


d e e p

by SomeRainMustFall



Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [2]
Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Drowning, Gen, Malcolm Bright Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-03-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:21:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23160892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeRainMustFall/pseuds/SomeRainMustFall
Summary: For once, Malcolm has back up.It's rather unfortunate for him that it still doesn't stop things from going very wrong.×Bad Things Happen Bingo 'drowning' square.
Series: Bad Things Happen Bingo [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1664860
Comments: 62
Kudos: 222





	1. 1

For once, Malcolm _has_ back up.

He has his team by his side as they shove open the door to the abandoned marina’s decrepit old boathouse. He has them, and their guns drawn, and even goes in _behind_ them. 

Gil tells him, “Stay behind me,” and he does.

JT says, “Be careful,” and he is.

Dani is wordless as she catches him from falling through a hole in the rotting floor, and he thanks her.

Malcolm has back up, and it still goes _wrong._

They split, though Malcolm stays beside JT. They’re not _entirely_ sure that who they’re looking for is here, and perhaps that’s why Malcolm thinks it’s alright if he slides off down a corridor to do his own investigating.

Generally, he thinks most things are alright.

Generally, he’s not so dead wrong.

He moves carefully into one of the rooms, looking around a room full of decaying boxes for anything useful. He hears Gil call out as he clears a hall, and Dani from further away. It’s quiet. William Brookes isn’t here.

And then, something collides with the base of his skull, and a burst of brilliant colors blocks out his vision. He goes sprawling onto the floor on his stomach, knocking over boxes and coughing as dust clouds the air, and then someone is straddling his lower back, their hand grabbing a fistful of his hair and forcing his face down against the floor.

“You fucks just don’t know when to stop, do you?” Brookes hisses, and before Malcolm can say a thing, Brookes raises his head and slams it back down, _hard._

It doesn’t entirely knock him out, or at least, not for more than a second or two. What it does do is render him stunned, unable to move as Brookes wrenches his arms behind him and ties his wrists with a thick fishing rope. 

“Stupid little boy,” Brookes says. “You all should have minded your own business. Kept your mouth shut about shit that’s _way_ over that pretty head."

Malcolm’s lips are swollen. He parts them to let blood and saliva slide out, and it pools sticky and red on the wood floor beneath him, pouring from his nose. He runs his tongue over his teeth and thinks one of them is looser than it used to be, but none are missing. He clears his throat, and blinks hard, and tries to bring himself back, to focus through the pain. 

Brookes speaks. Malcolm can’t make out the words, and so Brookes sits him up, slapping him across the face to bring him back.

“ _How many_ are here?"

“A lot,” Malcolm says, feeling more blood dripping down the back of his neck. “Bunch.”

Brookes smirks. “It’s just you four, isn’t it? Such a cute little team you all make. That's a shame for you, though, kid. That’s a lot less chances for you to get out of this alive.”

“Bright!” 

Gil’s voice is distant, but he hears it. He opens his mouth to cry out, and Brookes slaps his hand over it, muffles it into nothing anyone outside of this room could hear. Malcolm kicks his feet, and Brookes pinches his nose, cutting off his air.

"Stop moving or I'll kill you right here," Brookes hisses, and Malcolm grunts, stilling himself.

"Good boy." He lets Malcolm's nose go, and Malcolm sucks air in desperately. Brookes doesn't release his mouth, though, until he's certain the others aren't coming this way. 

"Alright." He drags Malcolm up, holding him steady when he staggers, and then punches him hard in the stomach.

Malcolm must lose consciousness for a minute, because he doesn't recall Brookes throwing him over his shoulder, just opens his eyes again and stares down at the ground as it moves underneath Brookes's feet. He groans, but a wad of cloth has been shoved into his mouth and he can't quite manage to spit it out.

He squirms, and Brookes tightens his hold.

"Easy," Brookes says, and then he swears as, much closer, Dani calls for Malcolm again.

Malcolm cries out, kicking his feet, and Brookes lets him slide off, chuckling as he hits the ground and goes still, moaning.

"That feel good?" he asks, crouching beside him, stroking Malcolm's hair out of his face. "You're really a pretty little thing, aren't you? Shame we don't have the time to get to know each other a little better."

He drags Malcolm up by his collar, opens a car door, and throws him into the backseat. Malcolm grunts, rolling off onto the floor, and then finally spits the cloth out and shouts, _"Help!"_

"Oh, they will!" Brookes says. "That's the point. Thanks for the easy getaway."

The door slams, and everything muffles. He hears shouting, and a gunshot, too close, and it blows out the car's tire.

He feels something shove the car forward, and it starts to move.

And then he gasps as it jerks, tips, and falls off the edge of the dock he hadn't realized it was on.

At the sound of the splash of water, Malcolm is suddenly in motion, flailing his limbs in a panic. 

"Bright!" he hears, and he sits up, yanking on his wrists as he sees Gil in the water beside him, against the glass.

"Hang on, kid! We'll get you—" 

The car sinks under the surface, and Malcolm can't hear him anymore. The water is seeping in far too fast, rising with his fear, up to his chest now.

"No, no, no—" 

He strains as hard as he can, and slips one wrist out of the ropes. It's growing too dark to see outside, but he hears hands pounding against the glass, knows that they're trying.

But he also knows it's not going to break. He's going to have to wait until the pressure is equalized inside and out, and that means he's going to be without air until it does.

Thirty seconds. No longer than a minute. _Maybe._ He can do that. He _has_ to do that.

It's silent now, and that scares him more than anything. He must be too far down for them to get to anymore. The water is at his chin, and he feels tears stinging his eyes, as if they're going to help him now, as if he really needs anymore goddamn _water._

It's dark, and quiet, and he's terrified. He wonders how far he's going to sink, and then is flipped back as the vehicle hits solid ground. He bursts back up, coughing and wiping his face, and presses himself against the ceiling, gasping. He shakes hard, and his heart pounds, and then only his lips are above the water, and he gulps in what might be his last breath and lets himself go still.

Calm. He has to remain calm. He counts to fifteen, and then tries the door.

It doesn't open.

He bites his lip. He waits another ten, and tries again. Jerks on it as hard as he can, and then tries the other.

It doesn't open, either. He swallows hard. 

An ache starts in his chest. Small, hot, but bearable. He knows he shouldn't panic.

He panics, anyways.

He can't die here.

Not alone.

Not in a box he can't escape.

Not—not like her.

_Please._

God, he's so scared. 

He sees The Girl's hair, floating into his vision from behind him. He squeezes his eyes shut, and knows it's approaching a minute since he last breathed. His lungs burn, beg for oxygen he can't supply. His diaphragm heaves, trying to force him to take in a breath like it's not going to kill him, and as he pulls on the door again and it remains stuck, he comes to terms with the facts.

He's going to die here.

He won't even have gotten to say goodbye to them. To thank Gil once more for everything he's done, to thank Dani and JT for being his friends, however unwillingly at first. To thank his mother for trying so hard to atone for what she'd neglected him in his childhood, to thank Ainsley for always being there for him.

God, he's done nothing but pray for death for his entire life, and now he doesn't want it. He doesn't want it, _please—_

There's a light by the window. He yanks at the door again, and then presses close to the window to see _JT,_ face lit up by a flashlight, striking something against the glass and startling when they lock eyes.

Malcolm's mouth opens against his will, and he breathes out. He can't wait much longer. JT covers his mouth, and Malcolm does the same. He pinches his nose, closing his eyes, and fights against the agonizing pain starting to overwhelm him. Every nerve is on fire, screaming for air. He wonders just how long it's been now. Two minutes? Longer? 

He needs air. He's never needed _anything_ so badly. He slams his other hand over the first, gagging as his chest heaves, as the rest of the stale breath in his lungs explodes from his mouth despite trying so hard to prevent it.

The sound of the tool hitting the glass is all he hears. It echos, grating, throbs in his ears along with his heart, and then—

And then he doesn't hear it anymore. He only hears his own desperate, gurgling chokes, only feels cold water rushing down his throat.

He's at peace, for a moment. Things stop hurting, and he feels rather warm.

Then, there's nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me @ myself: there's literally no reason to make this a cliffhanger, it can easily be a one-shot.
> 
> Myself @ me: how 'bout I do a n y w a y ?


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ˘ ³˘)♥

JT probably should have realized something was wrong when Bright was being _quiet._ Too quiet. _Not there,_ in fact, though JT doesn’t notice immediately. Only when Gil makes a gesture from across the room and says, “Place is clear. Where’s the kid?” does JT look back and see Bright is no longer following him as ordered.

Of _course_ he isn’t. When did he ever follow orders? 

“Bright!” Gil calls as Dani rejoins them, and then takes out his gun again. 

“He’s fine, right?” she asks. 

“Probably fine,” Gil replies. 

“Probably,” JT says. 

Of course he _isn't._ JT isn't sure what makes him take the left hall instead of the right, luck or instinct, but it leads him right out to where Brookes is, to where, confusingly, he seems to be trying to push a car off the dock.

Sure. That seems like the most sensible thing for him to be doing right now. What’s he going to do, drive it through the harbor? 

“Freeze, Brookes!” JT shouts, and Brookes turns around. He’s _grinning,_ which is more than a little unsettling, and then JT sees something in the backseat, a shadow, making the connections just as Gil fires into it as a distraction, a warning for Brookes.

“Gil, wait!” JT shouts. “The kid! The kid’s in the car!” 

“ _What?_ ”

The sound of Gil’s cry is overwhelmed by the crack of the dock underneath the car, as the rotting wood gives out under the weight and tips the car into the water. 

“No! Malcolm!” Gil drops his gun, shrugs off his vest and is in the water before JT can even process what’s happened, before he can stop Brookes from running off and shoving Dani out of the way.

“JT!” Dani gasps, picking herself up off the ground and grabbing her phone to call for help. “The bus hammer in the car!” 

“On it,” JT says, vaulting himself over old equipment and taking the shortest route he can see up to where they’d parked. 

He’s rather glad when he realizes he didn’t put his gun away, because Brookes is suddenly crashing out of the underbrush into the parking lot, and JT aims his gun at him.

"On the ground! William Brookes, you're under arrest!"

Brookes laughs. “You sure your pretty little friend can hold his breath long enough for this?” 

“I’ll kill you,” JT hisses. “Get on the ground!” 

Brookes is too slow. He’s playing them. JT knows Bright's going to drown long before he can even get the man in cuffs and in the car. 

And yet, if he lets the man go, that’s blood on his hands.

He moves suddenly, catches Brookes off-guard, and bashes the butt of his gun into Brookes’ head. Brookes drops faster than the car off the dock, and JT yanks the car door open, grabs for the hammer and flashlight in the center console before rushing back down to where Dani is bobbing to the surface again, coughing.

“Brookes is unconscious by the car!” JT calls, tossing his shoes and vest away.

"He hit bottom!" Dani shouts, and Gil surfaces again, hacking so violently that Dani reaches out to grab him, to support him and keep him afloat. 

"How far?" JT asks.

"Fifteen feet," Gil gasps, "maybe more. I couldn't reach, I—I don't know if he's out of air, I—oh, God—" 

JT stands at the edge of the dock, clutching the tool in one hand and the flashlight in the other, and closes his eyes. He breathes quick and shallow until he's dizzy, and then sucks in as much air as he possibly can and dives off into the water.

He nearly misses the car in the darkness. It's settled and creaking in the sand, and the flashlight only just illuminates it.

He grabs onto the frame, hooks his foot under the car to stay there, and holds the flashlight steady between his cheek and shoulder, hitting the tool against the window. 

He doesn't expect to see Bright looking back at him, and he chokes.

Bright's hands come up to press on the window, and Christ, the fear on the kid's face is one of the worst things JT has ever seen. Bubbles trail up from his mouth, his throat working as he struggles, and JT claps a hand over his, urging Bright to do the same.

Bright does, squeezing his eyes shut, and JT hits the window again, and again. Bright jerks, and more air bursts from behind his hand, and JT hits harder. He wants to tell the kid to hold on, just a few more seconds, but he _can't._

He needs air. _Badly._ But if he goes back now, Bright won't stand a chance. And he's not leaving him here.

And then Bright's eyes roll. He tilts back, the last of his air escaping from his lips, and then convulses, limbs thrashing for a moment before going terribly, awfully still, sinking back down against the seat.

He's _dying._

JT's heart seizes in his burning chest. _Three minutes._ That's how long they have to get him breathing again, or his brain will be damaged. Six, and he’s gone. 

He might already be gone. 

JT might be next.

Air unwillingly releases from his aching lungs. Darkness is inching its way into his vision. He smacks the tool again, and _again,_ and then—

The glass shatters. JT fights with everything in him not to breathe in, reaching in and grabbing Bright's goddamn ten-thousand-dollar suit and hauling him out. It weighs them down, and he wrestles the coat off and ditches it there.

He kicks them upwards as hard as he can, but he can't imagine making it in time. He has to breathe, even if he knows it's going to kill him, he _can't stop it—_

He gasps, expecting water, expecting _the end,_ but it's air that rushes into him, a relief unlike anything else. He doesn't even remember hitting the surface. He hears shouting, and flails his arms, nearly dips under again until there are hands holding onto him, dragging him forward. Bright slips out of his grasp, is _tugged_ out of it, and he shouts, struggling.

"I got him!" Gil says, "JT! I have him! Don't fight!"

He starts to be able to see again, just barely. Outlines and shadows, the vaguest shape of them pulling him to shore. His feet touch bottom, and they drag him out of the water, and he slumps into the dirt, coughing.

"Oh, _Malcolm!_ "

JT rubs his eyes, and forces himself up to his knees. He recovers for another second, still panting, and then scrambles his way over to where Gil is giving Bright rescue breaths.

Dani has her hands on her mouth, shaking her head. "He's blue, he's—"

"Move," JT hisses, pushing Gil away. He tilts Bright's chin up further, squeezes his nose, and gives him breath after breath, compression after compression. 

Bright still doesn't breathe.

He can't be dead. He can't be. JT won't _let_ him be dead.

He can hear sirens now, drawing closer, but Bright has to breathe _now._ Not in a few minutes, _now._

"Come on, idiot," JT says, giving him another breath. "Come on!"

"Kid," Gil says, holding Bright's awfully cold, limp hand. "Please—please you can't—don't go—n-not like her, you can't do this to me!"

Dani sobs, face buried against Bright's thigh, shaking her head. 

JT compresses again. He breathes again. He swears and he curses and he does it _again._

He can't be dead. He can't be. Not the kid. He's too young. Not like this. Not after everything he'd been through. Some goddamn water couldn't be the end of it. Not when JT had just started to _like_ him.

It reminds him of the recruit they'd lost, a kid who'd bled to death right in his arms, a face that haunts him in his dreams to this day. Malcolm looked so similar, the same stupid baby face, and he was just as limp and lifeless as that boy, as JT begged him to keep breathing, because help was coming too late.

"Breathe!" he shouts.

"Oh, my God," Gil mumbles. He lowers his head, but JT won't fucking take that. Not again. Bright isn't bleeding. He can save him. He can save him.

_Please._ He has to save him. Not again.

"He's not dead. He's _not._ Come on, kid. Come on. You can't leave Gil like this! You know you can't! Get your stupid ass up, come on! Fuck! _Breathe!"_

He forces another breath into Bright's lungs, and this time, Bright coughs it out. His body jerks, and his eyes fly open, and Gil cries out, grabbing him and turning him onto his side.

Bright coughs again, vomits up several mouthfuls of water, and gasps. Once, and again, and again, drags air into his body, brings color back to face. 

"Bright, oh my God—" Dani says, and Bright's eyes open and close as he catches his breath. He doesn't seem to hear or see them, but he _breathes._ He _lives._ JT cradles the back of his head with a hand, and doesn't let go until the paramedics are hauling him onto a stretcher. 

They insist on checking him out too, and Dani tells him Brookes is safely in custody, so he relaxes, lets them usher him into the back and rides along with Bright. He watches the kid fade in and out, throw even _more_ water up, and finds himself holding the kid's hand.

"You're gonna be alright," he says, because Bright seems be looking right at him, and then Bright's eyes shut again, and for once, he looks at peace. 

And two days later, when Malcolm, on his third cup of jello, makes a complaint about the lack of flavors in this damn hospital and asks if JT was the one to kiss him—

"It wasn't a kiss!"

"Was it nice? I'm told I have soft lips."

"Jesus Christ, Bright."

"Wow...that good?"

—JT finally breathes again, and knows he was right.

The kid, as always, is gonna be just fine. 


End file.
